The Romantic Erotic Novel

Chapter 7 – Part 4, Whore vs. Slut

This is chapter 7, part 4 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

I drove home excited to discuss what I had learned about liberty with María, visualizing what I’d say – I decided to put on my tux and take her out for dinner and dancing. I stopped along the way to buy flowers. I would kneel, bury my face in her vulva, and re-pledge myself to her. She arrived at the house just before me, and I found her and the Nanny tending to Brett, He was burning with fever, and we jumped back in the car and headed for a clinic. It wasn’t anything serious, but a clinic waiting room is no place for a serious philosophic discussion nor physical intimacy. María was tired, so when Brett’s fever broke, I sent her and the Nanny home in a taxi, and I brought Brett home two hours later. María slept; she had the early shift at the apartments in the morning.

I rushed to work early, going out the door with María, holding her tight before she got in her car, holding her until she commented, “Hang on there, Don Juan, aren’t you hot this morning!” I asked her to meet for lunch, but she said she had a meeting, and she doesn’t do freebie quickies anymore. Bummer.

I arrived first of my group at work, and I alternated between documenting the new process architecture, and the new liberty architecture for human relations. I realized I wrote an outline for a book about liberty architecture. I was stoked, pacing my room, talking to myself in Spanish, to Josey and Bunk, laughing as we joked and scribbling and diagramming on my white boards. I called Materials Requisition and they showed up 30 minutes later with four large whiteboards. My office was wall-to-wall scribbles and diagrams.

A large of group of colleagues burst into my room about 10:30. It was the project leader, her boss, and several levels of management above her. The hardware guy had gone through the building proclaiming my victory over the problem, and they came to tell me I would be promoted at double my contract rate. They brought champagne, a clear violation of company rules, and we toasted. The hardware guy left my office last – he said he had calculated the process speed-up at 37%, and it was all possible because of the way I had designed how memory would move across time. I told him the 37% was all his, and I’d put in a good word for a bonus for him. Now, I was stoked! I looked at my liberty architecture notes on the whiteboards, thought of María’s perfect vulva, got an erection, and decided to go see her for lunch, meeting or no meeting. I stopped for flowers and chocolates on the way.

When I arrived at the apartment office, it was closed for lunch, and I peered in the windows. I saw María inside, dressed in a skimpy micro-dress I’d never seen before, not the dress she wore when she left the house that morning.

María stood behind her boss, her hand snaked around his hip, found the top of his pants, and wormed its way inside as he frantically loosened his belt and zipper. Her hand found its target, and she popped his penis free, then held it as leverage to pull herself around to his front. She went to her knees as he grasped her hemline with both hands, dragging her black micro-dress up to her breasts as she descended. She gave several long, slow pulls on his penis. I saw her cheeks bulge as she circled his penis crown with her tongue. It seemed forever before her lips popped off his penis head.

She lay over the boss’ desk with her legs crossed at the knees, her arms together over her head, and her boss worked her skirt up over her head and off. Her stretchy panty exquisitely molded the shape of her vulva for a few seconds, then he wiggled the panty down to her knees. Her vulva glistened with her natural lubrication. The black seam of the thigh-high hose crossed at her knees, forming a perfect heart-shaped derriere. She squeezed her thighs together and her vulva barely peeked out. He had practice at this, he found her vagina on the first try and worked his penis in until he bottomed-out. She must have super tight on his penis! He held her hands together behind her back, the other hand gripping her hip, and slow-stroked her a few times to loosen her up. He released her hands, and he power-fucked her, claiming her body as his penis’ property. His face wore the shine of nirvana, hands on his hips, nothing but pure lily-white, solid penis rotating around her vagina.

He was a red-head Irish with the whitest penis I’d ever seen – the contrast with her olive body electrified me, even more so with the black garter belt and hosiery. My whole body tingled – I popped an erection. His penis was stiff and large, larger than the penis I pumped inside my pants. Her body swayed and she teetered on those 4-inch heels as he rotated his penis around her vagina – this must be how the expression ‘screwing’ originated. He pulled his penis out to the head, stretched by the tightness of her vagina – I expected to see freckles on his penis. He screwed his penis back inside her. She rolled and turned her hips as he stroked into her, expressing her own pleasure. It was all so smooth and polished, almost choreographed – they had a lot of practice at this.

He was ugly, death-white pale skin with facial freckles, reddish pubic hair, ugly, so ugly … and screwing my wife! I squirted in my pants, but he was still going strong as I slunk away.

My noblest intentions about María died.

I sped towards the house intending to fuck the Nanny, my head felt like it would blow off. A cop stopped me for speeding and running a stop sign, over $200 of fines, and I cooled off a little. When I arrived at the house and approached the Nanny’s room, I heard her moans and Satyr’s grunts.

I moped around the house for a few minutes, then drove to the local sporting goods store. I asked the manager to show me several pistols of various types, and explain the differences. I had no idea what it meant, so I asked for a recommendation for a ‘self-defense’ handgun. He selected a 9mm automatic, I pulled out my credit card, and he asked for my purchase permit. He said it takes about two weeks for approval and gave me the application. I dropped it in the trash as I left the store.

I returned to work. A half bottle of champagne sat on my desk, and I chugged it. It was flat and tasted awful. I couldn’t concentrate on my design analysis, so I decided to transcribe the diagrams and notes from the white-board into my computer. This was what I needed, to focus on something that wasn’t María. The logic and timing calculations and programming tips soothed me and I became engrossed in them. When I finished the real-time transcription, I ordered and formatted them into the initial architecture document. I was proud of what I’d done – this was a great day for my professional reputation.

I started transcribing the liberty architecture notes, then ordered them as an extended outline. This would make a good book. But when I got to the part of the female primacy of liberty, María took over my mind. This was one of the greatest days in my life and María, my wife, had fucked another man, an ugly, pale-skin man with an ugly white penis. She had rolled her tongue over that hideous white penis crown, making it harder so he could stick that hideous penis into her perfect brown-pink vagina. His body was whiter than his penis with his pink veins showing through. And his pasty-white face had freckles. Freckles, ugh! He probably kissed her with that pasty freckled face, then fucked my María on this special day for me. My stomach turned over and I ran to the bathroom and upchucked sour champagne, burning my sinuses. I had seen María fuck many men before, but none of them upset like today. Because he was so ugly? Because he had a white penis?

I wiped the white-boards clean and read my liberty notes again. Was María a penis-woman, corrupted by the penis-systems until she transformed into a common whore? How can the female transform the violent penis culture if she’s fucking every penis she encounters? Is this what liberty means, free fucking for women?

I archived all the liberty files. There would be no book, and there should be no María. I had finally endured enough. I went home, determined to catch her in lies, and give her an ultimatum – clean-up or get out!

That night, I checked her bag while she showered, the micro-dress was neatly folded in a baggie. When we sat for dinner, I asked her to tell me about her work at the apartments. She was surprised and eager to talk, I had never expressed much interest in what I thought was a menial job.

María said she applied the lessons learned from the Pol’s parties to her job. María quickly learned her dress and demeanor easily affected potential male renters. At the office, she changed into thigh-high stockings and garter belts, and wore short, sleek, slinky, snug dresses that always rode up, exposing her hosiery tops when she moved. She’d swing her sculptured legs out from behind her desk, pause to pull the hem down, them stand on the four-inch black heels, adjust the hem down again, then lead the men out, prancing on the high-heels, to see the apartments. The men lost their sanity, and signed-up. However, when she started trading sexual favors, her recruitments really took off. The men were rewarded with a quickie when she returned with them to the apartment with the keys and orientation. She won all the contests and cash bonuses for new tenant recruitments. She also won for on-time rent payments she personally collected. Of course the other office girls suspected something, were jealous, and they detested her.

Her boss had positioned her desk so he could observe her from his office interior window. He masturbated as he watched her show.

I asked, “What are these tenant quickies?”

“Whatever the tenant wants that doesn’t involve removing my clothes. Either a blowjob or a quickie fuck, usually from behind.”

“With condoms?”

“I suggest it, and many men agree, they know I’m a loose whore.”

“Can I call you a whore now?”

“I’ll cut-off your penis.”

“I thought you didn’t do freebies anymore.”

“I get a bonus for signing a new tenant, and I get tips from the tenants. Remember, I’m a card-carrying prostitute.”

“A cheap prostitute!”

“A cheap prostitute is a whore, and you’re about to lose your penis.”

“And with the boss? Condoms?”

“Never.”

She had never told me anything about sex with the tenants. I asked,

“How many tenants have you quickied?”

“Maybe a couple of dozen, do you want the number of men or the number of quickies? I have the tally at work, divided by sucks and fucks, including the ‘tips’ I receive from the men.”

She flummoxed me – this wasn’t going to be as easy as I imagined. So far, she explained her situation very matter-of-fact, without hesitation, embarrassment, and without lies. She already told me her boss fucked her occasionally, but I thought it was likely once or twice a month, on paydays. Now I guessed it was probably more like twice per week. So I asked,

“How often are you fucking your boss?”

“One to three times per week when the office is empty, a situation he arranges by scheduling of the office girls. We have a deal – he multiplies the number of recruitments by the number of weekly fucks. It works to our mutual advantage.”

She looked anxious that I seemed bothered by this, and asked, “Why haven’t you asked me about this before?”

“I never imagined you would be fucking tenants, or your boss so often, I’m just surprised.”

“If you were the boss of a woman like me, wouldn’t you do the same?”

“Absolutely, I don’t blame him in the least. I’m envious of him, I guess. You’re so easy, my wife and the mother of my son. You’re probably the easiest slut in California and the most beautiful…”

“This shouldn’t bother you – how many times have you told me I should use my sexuality to advance myself. And you gave your approval to my prostitution… do you want me to stop?”

This was a direct challenge to my concept of woman and liberty. Either I believed it – or not. She was free and would be my life guide – or not. If I forced her to stop, I would shrink her world to the size of me.

I thought about what the Sacred Whore Goddesses Isis and Martine would say. There was no moral case against using her natural attributes to improve her life. Just as men might benefit from good looks, high intelligence, a great smile, an agile penis, testosterone, physical coercion against women, etc., her fabulous body and sexy demeanor were natural attributes. The arguments against this were nothing but hypocritical remnants of religious superstitions.

I said, “No, you can continue and you shouldn’t ask my permission. You’re a free woman.”

“You mean that, I can do anything I want?”

I laughed, “You already do.”

She hesitated, then said, “I have a big surprise for you, I’ve won the corporate prize at the national level for tenant recruitments. The prize is a new SUV, and a trip to anywhere in the world. The SUV is for you, your present for your birthday.”

I felt like she bought me off. It was her choice, but I really wanted her to choose freely to curtail her sexual activities. She must have seen that on my face. She offered me this relief – she wouldn’t be eligible for the prizes next year, so she would taper-off on both the tenants and the boss. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I chose to accept that.

I told her about my promotion. She lit up like the sun, kissed and hugged and congratulated me. Her bubbling joy dissipated my anxieties and I invited her out to celebrate her successes at work. I said nothing about my concept of liberty as a female quality, and nothing about watching her boss fuck her that day. What for?

On my birthday, María returned from work driving a new SUV. She honked, and when I came out the front door, she opened the car door, and swung her legs out, wearing her slinky black micro-skirt hiked up to her garter belt. She presented me the keys tied with a big red bow, and we went for a drive. Her skirt pulled up revealing three inches of thigh above her hosiery, and she opened my pants and stroked my penis as I attempted to drive. I drove her straight home, bent her over the kitchen table, raised her skirt, lowered her panty, and crossed her legs at her knees in that perfect heart-shaped derriere pose. I told her her vulva was beautiful, she was so beautiful, and she cried. She was sloppy lubricated by her boss, part of the awards ceremony for the car, and I ‘screwed’ her with my solid, not-quite-as-large cream-colored penis. I re-claimed my wife, at least at that moment, as property of my penis.

I remembered the street definitions: A slut fucks for the joy of sex. A whore fucks for the expectation of receiving some reward in return. María was firmly in the whore category, and I was overcome with gratitude this whore, this woman, had chosen me, had married me.

She was deliciously tight but I never preferred fucking through another man’s muck, so I withdrew, carried her to the bed, and licked the redhead’s semen from her vulva. I pulled his sexual power out of her, ingested it, assimilated it and became stronger and harder as I stole his essence. I crossed her legs again, entered her from behind, she was tight and she clamped down on my penis. As I ‘screwed’ his whore, my wife, I realized something was different in what I did and what her boss had done. They had been following a routine, choreographed sex. She had no passion for him, stoically endured the flesh of that man not for money but for family balance, and to win me a nice gift. I was proud of her. I also admired her boss – ugly as he was, he had managed to get access to one of the world’s most beautiful women. I promised her my life, and I broke down, cried, and begged her never to leave me, ever. I told her she owned me, saved me, made me complete.

She started crying, sobbing she shouldn’t have fucked her boss on my birthday. I stroked her hair, soothed her, said I knew who she was and what she was. She asked, “What am I?”

I started again, “You’re a horrifying, frightening, terrifying woman for an ordinary man like me. Scary, stunning, astonishing, amazing, horrifying, frightening, terrifying. Just looking at you make me shake in joy and fear.”

She relaxed, wet herself again, and I penetrated her again, stroking slowly, rotating around her vagina, ‘screwing’ her, “You’re kind and generous, smarter than I could ever hope to be, the type of woman that saves the world by saving one man. Or maybe many men. You soothe me, intoxicate me, redeem me.”

After a few strokes, she told me to power-fuck her, hands-free. I thought again of that ugly, death-white pale skin with facial freckles, reddish pubic hair, ugly, ugly lily-white penis and I embarrassed myself again by my quick-trigger as I replaced his semen with mine. I compensated her with a double orgasm with my tongue and lips.

As she slept, I propped up on one elbow and watched her. Can any person be the property of another? María owned me, not as property, but as my guide and life mentor. She continuously liberated me. I felt free, wrapped in her embrace, acknowledging her superiority as a complete human, a woman. I still have testosterone spasms, and she steps away and watches me as I destroy myself. She doesn’t interfere, she just watches, ready to take me back.

* * *

A few days later, the first of the month rolled around, rent time, and I observed her at home discreetly. Her lips and vulva were swollen for the first couple of days of the month. She likes the rewards, but she loves the raw sex more. María noticed that I noticed.

“The last time,” she said.

“Last time for what? You still have your regular clients and a couple of lovers scattered around.”

She smiled, “Husbands shouldn’t know about such things, and certainly shouldn’t mention them to their sweet wives. It’s uncouth.”

“I love you as deep as death.”

“Of course you do, now you’re learning.”

End of book content.

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